you climbed up the ladder of my ribcage to sit at the base of my throat until i was choking, fingers trembling like old razor blades fragile and thin and worn. you carved out my insides until there was nothing left. until i was hollow.
Eerie ending. I like it! The title suprisingly fits, like the top rung of your ribcage's ladder where he sat, or the blades of his razor he used...like there's really just no single word to describe these dark feelings. </3
Ooh, I like that thinking, it's pretty thoughtful of you. Titles are really tricky things like that sometimes...like you just want to judge the poem by its title sometimes, well, when you first see it. Yeah.